Blue Boxed
by DLKwiatek
Summary: Doe Clark dreamed of something when she was a little girl. She didn't remember what it was, but she waited for it until she forgot completely. Now she's just a nineteen year old with a low-paying job. One night, her "something" ends up in her backyard. That's when her life is changed forever.


**16th of September, 2002**

"It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long way to go, It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know! Goodbye Piccadilly! Farewell Leicester Square! It's a long, long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there!" I sing the chorus of a song I learnt when I was 6 years old while I wait outside.

I hear mum's feet treading across the damp, cold grass,"Oh, Dottie, come inside." She kneels down and puts her arms around my small shoulders.

"I can't, mum." I look up at her with my big hazel eyes, "If I do I might miss it."

"Miss what, sweetheart?"

"I don't really know. But I know it will be something great!"

"It's getting dark, and it's very cold!" She helps me up off my little suitcase I was sitting on. "And what on earth are you packed for? Were you planning on leaving, darling?" She smiles making crinkles by her eyes even though she's still young.

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe. But only for a little while."

"How about you come back in, and tomorrow you can wait again to see if whatever you're looking for finds its way."

"Fine." I cross my arms and allow her to steer me back into the warm and dry house.

I'll wait. I make a promise to the star speckled sky. For whatever you are.

**20th of October, 2013**

_Ding-Dong._

I sit straight up in my bed.

Who's at the door? There's never anyone at the door...the old and run down appearance of my house usually doesn't attract any visitors.

I slip out of bed, tie a robe around myself, and head down the stairs checking the clock as I pass by. It's 8:24. Now who could possibly be at my door at this time on a Saturday?

I make my way to the door, sleepily stepping with my bare feet on the creaky wooden floor. I turn the lock the cool brass door knob, and pull it open only to find a woman with straight black hair and a pantsuit standing at my door step.

I wait a while for her to speak, but she just stands there. "Um, hello..."

"Dottie Clark?" Her dark cherry brown eyes stare their way into mine.

"Yeah-um, yes, that's me. I'm Doe Clark." I cross my arms to hold my robe closed.

"I'm Lisa Barlow with the Robin&Locke company. We received a call about your plumbing a few weeks ago."

"Oh, yes. They actually came only a few days ago, cleared everything up. It was just a small issue with the pipes, that's all."

"We normally come back and check up on things, which is why I'm here." Her thin, dark red lips curl into a smile. It's very fake, and sort of sinister.

"I didn't get a call or anything..." I protest, about ready to shut and deadlock the door, "I'm sure everything's all good. There's no need for a check."

"We really need to check, Ms. Clark." She insists, and is rather too pushy for my liking.

"I'm sorry, but now's not a good time. I'm very busy at the moment." I lie, "I'll make sure to call if anything goes wrong." I don't wait for her to back up before I close the door.

I look out the window to check if she's leaving, making sure to lock the door first. I see her scan around my front yard a bit, then she walks back to her car.

Must be some new policy of theirs. Kind of stupid if you ask me. If it's fixed, then don't come back and bother me. They probably would've charged me for it too, and I can't pay that on a part-time photographer and part-time book shop keeper's salary.

I tried to get a job for a while, but it seemed no one would hire me. Not one company had an interest in the spunky reddish haired girl who could paint and draw, or was good with a camera. Every place rejected me except a little book shop on the corner of Tossel St. called Georgie May's Books. But it just wasn't enough. So I started my own little photography business. I do a few shoots here and there, mostly for weddings and parties. Though I do get some clients who ask me to photograph their pets, which is always great and interesting fun. The photography really helped me be able to buy my dream house.

I always had an eye on this little old house the was spread apart from all the other houses. It was very historic and rundown, with it's overgrown garden and colonial appearance. It had character. I loved everything about it, right down to the cracked walls inside and out, and the ivy growing on the side of the house. The dusty windows, the creaky floors, and the old fireplace. It was perfect. So I eventually bought it.

Since that pushy and terrifyingly strange woman already woke me, I go to the kitchen to make breakfast. I grab two eggs from the fridge and a bowl from the cabinet.

_Crack_.

I pull the shell apart and the gooey clear and yellow egg slumps into the bowl. I take a fork and whisk it then pour it into the heated pan.

While the pan heats up even more, I sit down at the table and unplug my cell phone from it's charger. It buzzes in my hand, making me realize I still haven't responded to Noreen's text message asking me about my reoccurring dream. It's a tricky subject, and it makes me feel uncomfortable to talk about.

The dream always starts out with me standing in a white room wearing some sort of hospital gown, and no shoes. I seem to be walking on a cold tile floor, but I'm not really moving. Sometimes I'll come across a red button and go to press it, but I'll instantly be a few feet back. Then I'll hear this voice coming from a woman. She says, "Don't worry, my dear. We're fixing everything. We're fixing your mind." And she'll come out of a steel door that pops up in one of the walls with rubber gloves and a hospital bed. That's when my back and stomach start to hurt extremely bad. The woman, with her frizzy maroon hair and dark blue eyes, will put her latex covered hand on my stomach and say, "Oh, look at that! You're ready to deliver."

Then the scene changes to another white room, but with medical tools and supplies. I'm flat of my back surrounded by some people with surgical masks on and they keep telling me to breath.

I get dizzy and my skull pounds as a faint, whispy voice fills my head.

The woman smiles and says, "Just breathe and close your eyes." as she moves towards my stomach with an incision knife

And that's where the dream just ends as if you paused a film.

I hesitate, but I go into my text messages and open up the most recent one from Noreen. I decide to text her back. I feel bad for not responding. I did, after all, tell her about the dream, so I shouldn't get annoyed at her responses.

**Noreen**: Are u sure it's not just because ur worried of getting pregnant? Or maybe it's a sign that ur actually going get pregnant. Maybe u already are!

**Me**: How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not pregnant! Not in the dream or in real life! I don't even have a boyfriend, Nor. Quit being ridiculous.

**Noreen**: I'm just trying to help. Maybe u should see someone about it.

**Me**: Like what? A shrink?! I'm not crazy, Noreen.

**Noreen**: That's not what I mean! Oh, forget it. I'm sure it's nothing.

**Me**: Yeah, I guess it's nothing to worry about. It's just a silly little dream.

A thick, smoky scent pushes its way through my nose. I stand up out of my chair, "What is that smell? What-Oh no!"

I rush over to the pan on the stovetop. Smoke is emerging from it in a wispy grey cloud, and the eggs have turned black. I turn off the stove, and douse the pan in cold water from the sink.

I need to start remembering that:

1. I'm a horrible cook.

2.I'm too clumsy to deal with potentially flammable materials.

3. I get distracted very easily.


End file.
